


so change your mind, and say you're mine

by atlantisairlock



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Person of Interest (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunken Confessions, F/F, Getting Together, Male-Female Friendship, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two hours before they're set to film Sarah's last scene for S04, she barges into Amy's trailer without so much as a hello, kisses her, and then leaves. They don't see each other again for a year.</p><p>She occupies Amy's mind every single day of that year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so change your mind, and say you're mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badwolfkaily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfkaily/gifts).



> au where none of them are attached and sarah leaves because of a family emergency. timeline is a bit screwy. i'm not well-versed with bts so i'm not 100% clear on when s04 filming ended, when sarah left and when s05 filming began. 
> 
> title from 'stay' by hurts.

Two hours before they're set to film Sarah's last scene for S04, she barges into Amy's trailer without so much as a hello and kisses her. 

Amy doesn't even have time to react, to prepare herself, to actively catalogue the feelings and sensations and movements because there's absolutely  _no_ warning. Sarah just enters, slams the door behind her, pushes her against the wall and it's a proper kiss, real and charged with emotion. Amy kisses back more out of pure instinct than anything, but a couple seconds in she finds her hands settling on Sarah's waist, pulling her closer, until she swears she can feel the thud of Sarah's heart against hers. 

In some subconscious section of her brain that's still processing the world normally, she notes how feverish the kiss is, the staccato beats of Sarah's breaths, desperate somehow. The sighs are still slipping out of her own mouth when the realisation clenches like a fist beneath the bars of her ribcage - 

Sarah kisses her like she's saying goodbye. 

It ends almost as abruptly, as surprisingly as it begins. Out of nowhere, the weight of Sarah's body against her own disappears, and Amy opens her eyes to see her costar - colleague - friend? - taking a few graceless steps back, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth, coming off wet, tinged with the pale rouge of Amy's own lipstick. Sarah won't meet her eyes, turns and darts to the door, pulling it open and leaving without a word. 

Amy stands with her back and shoulder blades lined up against the off-white of the trailer wall for over a minute before she can peel herself away, hands still trembling, the ghost of Sarah's touch lingering on her arms, her wrists, her hips. 

If that was Sarah's goodbye - 

Lifting her hand to her face, Amy sees the slightest imprint of fingermarks on her flesh. Somehow, she wishes they won't fade. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

 

 

Amy has to do a scene with Michael right after, and she's so distracted she keeps slipping up. The sixth time she messes up the same line, a break is called and she legs it to the bathroom, splashing water on her face. 

The bruise is beginning to show. If the crew notices, they keep quiet about it. She just manages to scrape through the scene - it's uninspired and a little off and probably won't go down well on screen, but she honestly can't find it in herself to care, not right now. 

By the time they all congregate for dinner, Sarah's gone. Jim tells her that she left right after she finished her scene, no teary farewells, no promises to keep in touch, even declining her au revoir party. 

"She's probably rushing off to be with her mother," Michael reasons.

Amy pushes food around her plate with her fork and doesn't reply.

 

 

She tries, she really does. 

She's a professional, after all, and it wouldn't be fair to her co-workers, or the crew, or her fans, if she didn't give her best on-camera. And she's good at acting. She can pull it off, this facade of normality, of casual lightheartedness. 

The scenes go well. She doesn't NG anything the day after Sarah leaves. She gets more than a few words of praise. She's fairly sure nobody can tell that she's just  _consumed_ by the thought of Sarah, of the kiss. Of their kiss. It means something to her, and she wants to -  _needs_ to - know if it meant anything to Sarah too. 

It's all she can think of, at the back of her mind, even when she's absorbed in a scene or prepping for one in her trailer. 

Her trailer. She can barely stand to be in the space any more, because all she can think of when she's there is - 

A wave of overwhelming disquiet crests over her, and Amy feels the exhaustion seep deep into her bones. 

She's not sure how she's going to make it through the next month.

 

 

Jim is... perceptive. Either that, or she's not as good an actress as she thought she was. Amy prefers to think it's the former.

She's sitting in her trailer going over her script again when someone knocks. When she opens the door, it's Jim, standing on the step with his hands shoved into his coat pockets and a rueful smile on his face. "May I?"

She steps aside in a show of assent. He walks in and looks around tentatively. He's never been in her trailer, and Amy wonders what brought about this sudden visit. "What's up?"

Silence. Jim taps his fingers against his thigh. "Do you miss Sarah?"

That's the thing. Jim is observant, but he is also blunt. Amy almost laughs, a knee-jerk reaction to sudden, startling question, but just manages to pull herself together and keep a straight face. "Don't you?" A foolproof tactic, turning the question back against him. "It feels incomplete for all of us, I thought." 

He stares at her, narrowing his eyes. He knows all too well that she's dodging the question. Amy doesn't relent, looks him in the eye unflinchingly. To his credit, he doesn't give up. "It seems to be getting to you, more than most."

That ache in her chest again. Amy's lips burn. The faint blue-black on her arm has long faded, but she could swear she feels it throb when she thinks of Sarah. Of being in this very trailer with Sarah. She's so far away, and her thoughts keep drifting to how she's doing.

She does miss her. Just not the way any of them do. Amy suddenly feels the urge to confide in Jim, to tell him everything. He looks concerned, expression so open and genuine. 

But she's selfish, and she wants to keep that memory to herself, so fleeting and precious. She wishes she could have it take corporeal form, and hold it in her hands, or to have it settle in her heart and keep her warm. It's hers to keep. 

So she just smiles at Jim, all false cheer and gentle teasing, and shrugs. "I guess I miss the dynamic. She's definitely easier to get along with than the rest of you." 

"Ha ha, funny," Jim deadpans, playing along, but she knows he's seeing through her. 

She'll just have to be content with it. 

 

 

 _Please help us,_ she - no, Root - cries to the Machine alongside Harold, in the middle of some street, the name of which she doesn't care to take notice of.

When she picks up the payphone and hears the monotonous drone spelling  _Sierra. Tango. Oscar. Papa. Sierra. Tango. Oscar. Papa._ it hits her like a punch to the gut. 

It's all a show, none of it is real, but it seems to be speaking to her anyway. 

S-T-O-P.

Stop. 

 

 

Jim doesn't bring up their conversation again, although she catches him giving her sidelong glances more than once. Kevin ribs him more than once about having a crush, at which he blushes bright red and everyone has a good laugh. 

Amy knows better, though. Tries not to let it get to her. Tries to just stick it out until they wrap. 

Wrap. They might not get a Season 5 and she knows it, and then Sarah'll be back in L.A. and she'll be working in New York, states apart from each other, and who knows when they'll cross paths again? 

It's a sinking feeling, knowing that she never even got to say a proper goodbye. 

 

 

When the clapboard comes down for the last time, when they say their last lines of the season, when they hear the call of  _cut! -_

there are celebrations, of course. Everyone's laughing and chattering and there's a wrap party to get to. They've rented out a bar for the night and Amy proceeds to get blackout drunk. 

It's over. 

Maybe in more ways than one.

She can't bear to think about it. 

 

 

Sarah keeps up a steady stream of running commentary on her Twitter and Instagram - she's doing fine, she's taking care of her parents, the weather is lovely back in SoCal. 

There are no calls or texts. 

Amy spends one day just lying in her bed and staring at her ceiling, idly wondering how long she's been in love and never realised it. 

It's a pretty shitty feeling.

 

 

She actually finds that she's pretty pissed with Sarah. 

It's not fucking fairto kiss her, and then leave, that much she's sure of. 

She's beginning to doubt if it actually happened, let alone if it meant anything. She wonders if Sarah thinks about her at night, too. 

She's so... 

It's not  _fair._

 

 

A cheap gossip rag or two publishes grainy photographs of Sarah, clad in cap, sunglasses and hoodie, entering a doctor's office on some faceless, nameless man's arm. There's a badly written, sensationalist, pregnancy scandal story to go along with the pictures. 

Sarah goes quiet on social media.

Amy breaks out a bottle of scotch and drinks until she can't feel, can't think, can't see. In the haze of drunkenness, she ends up calling Sarah, who doesn't pick up. The call goes to voicemail, a pleasant computer-generated voice telling her to leave a message after the tone. 

_Beep._

"Did you mean it, when you kissed me that day?"

The words slur out of her mouth, blurring together. She can't really hear herself speak. 

"Because if you did, newsflash, it was fucking cruel to kiss me and then leave without even saying goodbye, and then proceed to cut off all contact with me after that. Fuck, Sarah, I miss you. I think of you all the time. It meant something to me. I want to see you again. I - " 

A long pause.

"Come back."

 

 

Sarah doesn't respond to the voicemail, not that Amy's expecting her to. The next day, though, she deactivates her Twitter account and the tabloids go nuts. 

Amy stares at her number in her phone and contemplates deleting it.

 

 

Her brother notices, sits down with her one afternoon with a glass of wine and worry written all over his face. "What's wrong?" 

She's too out of it, too fucking heartbroken to lie. "It's Sarah."

He looks at her, confused. "Co-worker Sarah?"

"Co-worker-who-kissed-me-and-then-left Sarah," Amy answers bitterly, and understanding evidently dawns upon him. "Ah, that explains it." He passes her the wine and watches her drink, then tilts his head and gives her a soft, sympathetic look. "Do you love her?"

Amy closes her eyes, leans back in her chair, and tries not to cry. 

She doesn't try calling again after that, and news of Sarah just stops appearing on any website, any tabloid. Amy looks herself in the mirror and tells herself - 

 _move on._  

 

 

Season 5 is revealed to be a go a couple of months later, and the network releases the confirmed list of returning actors and characters.

Sarah's name is conspicuously missing. 

Over six months' worth of trying-to-get-over-her goes to naught in a matter of seconds. 

Amy calls Jim, who picks up after the first ring. "Hey, Amy. How've you been?"

She goes straight to the point. "Sarah talk to you lately?" 

She can  _feel_ his hesitation over the line. Amy grips her phone tighter. "Jim, please don't lie to me."

Jim sighs. "Yeah." 

Something collapses inside her, folds in on itself. Amy blinks away tears that have sprung to her eyes. "Is she - okay? How is she doing? Is she not coming back for S05?" 

"I don't know, Amy," Jim answers quietly. "I'm sorry."

Amy thinks she is, too. 

 

 

A week later, Sarah finally posts a photo on her Instagram after months of inactivity. It's an old picture from way back when, maybe S03, a noir photo of her in an outfit that's recognisably Shaw's. 

This time, Jim calls her. 

"Sarah's just confirmed that she's coming back for the last season - you know that, right?"

Amy's breath catches in her throat. Jim laughs, softly, over the phone. "You should tell her."

"I... it's not like that," she tries, pathetically. 

"Amy," Jim replies, all dulcet tones of firm understanding, and she sighs. "I didn't realise you'd - figured it out."

"It doesn't take a genius." 

"That's good, because you sure aren't one," she jokes, and when he snorts, all the way from Seattle, something settles. 

 

 

She gets shitfaced when they announce the dates for S05, when they mention Sarah's name. Amy briefly wonders if she's developing an unhealthy addiction right before she passes out. 

She wakes up the next morning to a whopping hangover and a letter in the mail. The envelope is heavy, cream-coloured, with a PAR AVION sticker under the stamp. Her address has been written on the front, the handwriting all too familiar. Her hands shake when she slits the envelope open, and she's not sure if it's because of the alcohol or because - 

the letter itself is short and... not sweet. Bittersweet, perhaps. 

_Amy,_

_I'm sorry._

_Will explain everything when we meet up again._

_Wait for me._

_See you soon._

_Sarah._

It's  _just_ like Sarah to avoid texting, calls, her social media platforms, and choose to send an honest-to-god fucking  _letter_ through the post. Amy slips it back into its envelope, places it reverently in her bedside drawer, and waits. 

 

 

It's fucking stupid, but she's so  _nervous_ on her first day back, even though Sarah's not due until a week later, or so she thinks. She spends the first few days just getting back into the swing of things - they all do - but she's keyed up, can't stop thinking about finally seeing Sarah after close to a year. 

And yet, and yet - she's survived this long, not having any contact with her, not really. She's survived this long on the dregs of memory, and Amy lets herself consider, just briefly, the possibility that she could be perfectly okay without ever seeing Sarah again. 

Then Sarah turns up on the set two days before she's expected to, just fucking walks in halfway through a scene and Amy proceeds to spill a jug of water all over Michael's shoes. 

Take five, while wardrobe frets and rushes for a replacement. Sarah melts right into the background and disappears, but Amy knows too well what game she's playing. She makes a beeline for her trailer, and her hunch comes out right - Sarah's waiting inside, seated on her desk. The moment Amy steps in, she gets up, takes step by calculated step towards her, closer, closer, so close - 

"No," Amy says, surprised at how clear and strong her voice is, and Sarah stops in her tracks, just inches away. "Fuck, Sarah, you don't get to do that again. You don't get to just - just get all up in my space and leave me wanting and then run away, not again. I need to know you're going to stay. I need to know where I stand." 

Sarah flinches back, but nods slightly. "I guess I deserve that."

Amy's head spins. Hearing her voice again, after all this time - 

"You promised me an explanation. In your letter."

"Yeah," Sarah answers heavily. "Yeah, I did."

Amy folds her arms across her chest, waits as Sarah collects her thoughts. When she finally looks back up at Amy, it's all raw emotion in her eyes, vulnerability, desire, fear. "Amy, I listened to your voicemail, and for the record, I want to tell you that I did mean it. Every bit of it."

"You've a pretty funny way of showing it," Amy answers, but there's no bite in it. She's just tired, she realises, tired of running, and waiting, and all of that has culminated in  _this_ \- Sarah, here, now. 

Sarah huffs a frustrated growl. "Listen, for a long time I _really_ didn't know if I was coming back, okay? What with my dad's life hanging in the balance and not knowing what the hell was going on and all the shit back home, and I was scared. I was scared that I wouldn't have the chance to tell you how I felt - how I  _feel_ \- and then never see you again. And then when I went ahead and threw caution to the wind, I was scared to own my consequences, so I took the easy way out and I ran away. And then when they found out that my dad's illness, the thing that was slowly killing him over all these years, was potentially hereditary I got fucking scared too. I thought I was dying, Amy. I thought I was dying and was I really cruel enough to pull you into my sphere to suffer through the pain with me when you didn't have to? They put me through a shitload of tests before they finally could confirm I was safe. And by then I'd gotten chickenshit, I'll admit it. I called Jim and heard that you were doing okay and I chickened the fuck out, so I didn't contact you until..." She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I was scared." 

There's a long, long pause, silence in the trailer, broken only by their ragged breathing. Sarah keeps her eyes glued to the floor, before she finally lifts her head to meet Amy's. "But that doesn't mean I love you any less."

She can't breathe. The words steal air from Amy's lungs. 

Sarah has her fists clenched by her sides. Amy thinks she can hear her own heart beating, blood rushing like a cacophony. 

"Okay," she finally says, feeling small, feeling stupid, but so fucking in love. "Okay, you can kiss me now." 

She's scared, too. She is. But with Sarah in front of her, pulling her in and slanting her mouth against Amy's own, 

nothing else matters. 

Nothing. 

The world disappears in a wash of grey and white. 

 

 

Take five ends up to be take thirty, because they get caught up, because Sarah pins Amy to the wall and they make out for what seems like hours, all breathy moans and clumsy kisses. Jim and Michael and Kevin manage to buy them some time, but eventually even they get impatient and Jim's sent as the sacrificial lamb to bang on Amy's trailer door and tell them to get their asses out of there, there'll be time later but right now they  _really need to finish this scene._

Amy's flushed, laughing, breathless, and Sarah's about the same. She makes an effort to straighten out her clothes before they both exit the trailer. Jim casts a disapproving glance at them. "Jesus Christ, Amy, makeup's going to throw a fit."

Sarah twines her fingers in Amy's and squeezes her hand, and Amy smiles. "Let them."

 

 

After that, they don't ever say  _I love you_ out loud, ever again.

They never need to, and Amy's just fine with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer:
> 
> i don't own person of interest or cbs or warner, etc. i don't know any of the cast personally. i don't profit from this fic; it's just for fun. i don't actually ship amy and sarah. this fic isn't meant to be in character or to represent anything happening in real life or whatever. no insinuations or disrespect meant towards any of the cast or their families or their respective spouses et al. probably really incorrect wrt all the technical bits bc i haven't had much prior experience in the film industry. aka everything i've written in this fic is FICTIONAL. for ENJOYMENT. 
> 
> please for the love of god DON'T come to the comments section going off about how rpf is Disrespectful and Gross and Wrong and Weird - which seems to be a trend on shacker fics - unless you intend to comment the exact same thing on every single phan and one direction and hockey fic that exists on this site as well. it's just annoying.


End file.
